


Coming into Season

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22702525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx had never understood the appeal of the Lucian holidays. He was certain he wasn't going to get through this one alive.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	Coming into Season

At a certain age there was an art to the question. A delicate way of tone and phrasing, a confidence that came with longevity or dismissal of tradition. There were ways, as Nyx understood it, to make the whole festival more stressful than the entire relationship. He almost envied the Lucian ability to sap emotional context out of their own holidays. Children simply exchanged cards and gifts between themselves and their own isolated little social groups— those microcosms of society that formed in schools and between close families. Adults were meant to have settled into these things. They were meant to have the partner and the certainty of an understood, unspoken, unasked question for the event. They were meant to wake up with the certainty of the answer.

There were traditions, of course. Ways to subvert the question and the stress— to make light of the traditions with sweet treats and games. Little cards and silly messages scribbled across the bright colours deemed festive for the season that lost their allure the longer they sat on store shelves. Blood reds of pulsing hearts and soft pinks of new romance smeared across the city streets normally gleaming with the neons of Lucian aesthetic. Presents were still hidden away in closets and drawers, and “don’t go in there” still sang through a teasing smile as partners danced around each other for half a month while the cheerful nature of the holiday crept closer. Like how children and teenagers danced around each other within their social groups, or hid the expensive gifts from snooping parents and lovers who they preferred to remain oblivious. 

Nyx never understood any of it.

It was a Lucian thing. Or maybe Accordo. Altissia seemed to take a sort of strange pride in crowing about romance at every opportune moment. Or to dedicating an entire day to romantic traditions. And he wouldn’t put it past one of those convoluted, strange treaties that wrapped up a sharing of ‘culture’ in with the promise not to kill each other to sneak in some nonsense about an adoption of weird holidays and seasonal events. 

Valentine seemed like an Altissean name. 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

“Just get him some candy or something.”

“I can’t just give him candy from a store!”

“Then, I don’t know—” Crowe shrugged as best she could in the confines of the training exercise— a quick turn, a soft half-step to adjust her balance, a thrust, a parry, and then the frustrated little shrug that ruined the whole thing. Libertus knocked her back as he pressed his advantage of her distraction; “Fuck.”

“Think they already do that,” Libertus grinned, in better humour despite the best friend currently lamenting his lot in life ten feet away. 

“I don’t need to know,” Crowe made a face as she reset her stance. “Let’s go again.”

“Crowe, you’re a mage.” Libertus sighed as he followed the instruction; “You’re never gonna get close enough to an enemy—”

“Maybe I’m getting ready for this holiday too?”

“You got a boyfriend’s ass to kick?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Again, Libs.”

“Can we please focus on the matter at hand?” Nyx had found a way to sprawl across the spectators’ bench in as much a dramatic function as he could manage. Hands pressed to his face to ward off the afternoon sun. “What the hell am I going to do?”

“Have you even asked his Highness what he wanted to do?” Crowe offered, striking at Libertus’ unprotected ribs as both men stared at her in horror for the suggestion. “What?”

“Crowe! He can’t just ask.”

“I’d be dead in a week!” Nyx sat up from his lounge, hiding his face in his hands in his frustration. “You can’t just ask your boyfriend what he wants as a gift for this stupid holiday.”

Crowe threw her hands up in defeat; “Ifrit’s flaming cock, what the hell is wrong with you two?! It’s just a stupid Lucian holiday. Say you’ve never heard of it and take him to dinner or something.”

She could see the idea churning in their minds— the pitfalls of pleading ignorance, the equivalents from Galahd they could use as excuses, Nyx’s own wily nature struggling with the concept of lying to the Crown Prince he was currently sleeping with. Dinner was always a safe option— shared meals bred romance according to the Altissean sources of all things carnal, and an intimate table left little room for gifts that weren’t romantic gestures of undying love. Food could be picked at or wolfed down— excuses for taking their time to moon over the company, or devoured in a hurry with the excuse they wanted to get moving— and commented on when conversation floundered. Satisfied that it was a solid enough suggestion to move on from the distraction, she resumed her sparring stance and shocked Libertus back to the moment with a smack of her training sword to his shoulder; “Can we please get back to me kicking your ass now?”

Galahd didn’t have an equivalent holiday. 

There was something similar in the spring when the air was heavy with the perfume of early flowers. When some ancient tradition recommended bonfires and dances under the clear spring skies— couples young and old encouraged to hide themselves away for a few hours when the revelry under the stars and embers dragged on through the starry night— and a communal feast to celebrate the end of the winter stores. It had always been passed off as a farmers’ tradition, or some remnant from the ancestors’ age— a strange superstition that had young teens blushing at the mention of ‘furrows’ and ‘ploughs’ as the warming weather heated young blood with the fields— carried through generations. In the cities, the traditions had been laughed off as silly country ideas. 

Nyx almost missed the simple idea of dragging Noctis off to a bonfire party in some unused field and then sneaking off for some privacy once they got their blood pumping. 

Everything would have been easier back in Galahd. 

Lucis had too many options. There were no traditions rooted in the Lucian culture; there were no traditional gifts he could rely on, or dig up. For the next few weeks, the city would be wrapped up in crimson teases of temptation— promises of thoughtful lovers picking the perfect candy, the perfect restaurant, the perfect little trinket that was meant to show a sense of undying love (which would fall from favour in the next year when the next declaration of eternal admiration moved from one trinket to the next). There was too much a sense that he would need to know what the perfect little gift for Noctis would be— so long as it was themed, and heart shaped, and sweetly expected. That he was unworthy of the affection if he didn’t know what to do, what to say, or what to get.

When he parted ways with his unhelpful friends still suggesting everything from the popular gifts brandished across advertisements and through commercials to homemade gifts and cards, Nyx was wondering just how Noctis would break up with him. If Noctis would tell him that there was another plan for him, or if he would be honest and say it was because their cultures just didn’t seem compatible. This wasn’t the first Lucian holiday to confound what Nyx thought were his very reasonable senses. 

The others had been simple. The wild summer festivals under the lights of the city, watching colourful birds race through garden tracks and celebrations of the city’s peace and wealth. The sombre autumn to mark the end of the year and remembrance of the old Kings and Queens. The winter snows and ice and lights breaking through the dull black and white dizzying cold of the season to remind the city that spring was coming… Even Founder’s Day, with it’s speeches and suits and uniforms had been more enjoyable than this minor day. This blip on the Lucian calendar that seemed to require a definition of a relationship. 

It didn’t help that all the advertisements and suggestions in the city seemed geared toward the more traditional ideas and notions of love. Men and women— cologne and perfume, watches and diamonds, silk accents for suits and jewellery cut from the diamond hard glass and crystal of Cauthess. 

Maybe he could plead ignorance. 

He had only been in Lucis for ten years. That’s not enough time to learn every tradition and holiday. 

He had only dated Noctis for ten months. That’s eight months longer than his last relationship with a Lucian. 

As the days counted down— the month drew closer, the weeks wound to an end with winks and nods and the introduction of “last minute” phrases— Nyx found that he was staring at his reflection for longer and longer in shop windows. 

Ignis had stopped him in the halls of the Citadel as he moved to clock in to his shift and informed him of a reservation made at an upscale restaurant just blocks away from the palace. He was slipped a wine list with several vintages he had already been priced out of circled and underlined in a neat collection of different pens. Red for yes, blue for maybe, black for “it’s fine, I guess.” Stars for “absolutely not.” 

“Did he say anything?” Nyx thought his voice echoed in the empty halls deep in the stone bowels of the Citadel. But Ignis leaned closer to hear him. 

“He wanted me to divine what gift to get you. How do Galahdians celebrate this holiday?”

“We don’t…”

“Ah,” Ignis straightened again, his expression a blank canvas Nyx assumed was disappointment and disdain; “I see.”

A new stone formed in the maelstrom of his holiday spawned anxiety and settled low in his belly with the rest of them. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t—”

“No need to explain, Ulric. I’m sure his Highness will think of something suitable, if he hasn’t already.”

The anxiety cleared for a moment. For a brief, shining second of lucidity amid the confusion and worry, Nyx felt an absolute calm crash over him; “How is it that you always manage to make me feel like a scolded child, Scientia?”

“Years of practise, I assure you.”

“I’ve never seen it work on Noct.”

“No, he’s gained an immunity over the years.” With a small, mysterious smile Nyx was learning meant absolutely nothing within the confines of the Citadel. In other settings— out in the city, in the peace of Noctis’ own apartment— Nyx had learnt that it was a gesture of amusement. That easy little smile that often accompanied a roll of his eyes at a joke overheard or some new excitement expressed over a video game. It meant that Ignis simply knew something about Noctis that Nyx did not. Nyx fought the urge to pout as the younger man started his way down the hall. “I’m sure you will develop that immunity, Ulric.”

“You say that as if I’m going to be around after this holiday.”

“You’re lucky our Prince has a forgiving nature.”

Nyx did smile at that as he parted ways with Ignis. That sort of confidence had been hard to impress on his own friends in the past. It had been hard for him to keep close to his own heart. And there it went, with the sharp step of a young man who’s own understated confidence made him the backbone of the Crown Prince’s budding royal court.

He found the gift two days before the event itself. Before the restaurant called him to confirm the reservation and he remembered that the wine list he couldn’t afford had been in his locker since Ignis had given it to him. He had found the gift when wandering through the narrow warren of his neighbourhood buried deep in the lively, vibrant district he had fallen into when he arrived in Lucis. He found it buried deep beneath the chaos of lights and music that had drowned out every hint and indication of the Lucian romantic holiday that was looming over every other part of the sprawling capital. 

There was a moment of blind panic after he cancelled the reservation. The ramifications of the simple act of defiance seemed to echo around the street with the roar of traffic rushing back to reality. 

A moment of regret as he imagined that Ignis would get a call within a few minutes to reconfirm. As he imagined the wrath of the adviser about to bear down on him. 

It was a wrath that never came. No scolding texts, or disappointed calls. No acknowledgement when they met in the halls of the Citadel or brushed past each other in the narrow entry way of Noctis’ beloved apartment. Instead, there had been no further discussion of the restaurant and wines and the broken tradition advertised on millions of screens across the Lucian Capital; the romantic night out spent at an intimate table for two. 

“What are you doing?”

The question didn’t come with the wrath of an adviser or the Citadel. It wasn’t on the heels of his friends’ laughter as they sheltered him like a fugitive or helped him pack enough to survive on the war-torn, disputed roads of Lucis for a few months. 

It came with a surprised smile and a sleepy look chased away with a yawn. It came distorted and drawn out, half-spoken in the morning as he climbed over his Prince and lover in the dim light of the shuttered bedroom. He glanced at the time as he moved, careful of elbows and knees and the dips in the bed where Noctis was stifling a laugh at his antics. “Need me to move, hero?”

“No no,” Nyx smiled and exaggerated a stretch once free from the awkward morning game; “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Go back to sleep, little star. It’s still early.”

He peeked from the bedroom door and listened. He could hear the mechanical hum of the fridge, the soft and muted sounds of neighbours— a door closing down the hallway or the floor below, or perhaps above— as someone left the warmth and quiet of the apartments to join the dull roar of traffic far below. He listened for steps in the kitchen, the living room. For the grind of a sliding door in the entrance closet and the soft mutterings that usually accompanied Ignis’ arrival. He waited to hear if there was a threat to his life beyond the door of this messy little haven, where most of his clothes mingled with the more fashionable Prince’s outfit from the day before. The night before. 

“He’s busy today,” Noctis offered, propped up on his elbows. 

“Busy plotting my death, I’m sure.”

“Maybe. But either way, that means he’s not here.” Noctis let himself fall back into the bed and the tangle of blankets. Nyx glanced back to catch sight of a pallid knee peeking from the soft covers and smiled. “Besides, Iggy likes you.”

“He just wants you to think that so you don’t accuse him of my murder one day.” Nyx abandoned the search for his impending death beyond the bedroom door, and returned to the invitation Noctis was extending. “In the meantime, be my valentine?”

“It’s a little late to ask, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” The sun rose beyond the little world they had created in the bedroom, glittering across the shining city and the shimmering Wall as Nyx teased his way to Noctis’ good graces with a smile. The gift had been left in the living room with his duffel dragged across the city and from the locker rooms at work, half hidden by a change of clothes and his uniform jacket draped across it where he had left everything the night before. The little wooden gift box could wait a few hours more. “Go back to sleep, little star.”

“Tire me out, hero.”

The carved lures would shine when they were revealed— reds and greens and the deep browns of flawed natural wood polished to a perfect finish with their hooks and loops for the line the only metal among the artisan work— later in the day. The downy feathers and corded streamers would flutter as Noctis examined them with an expert eye. The cherry wood box— marred by grain and chisel and sanding— would creak when opened, the little spaces left for spools of fresh line and bait left empty save for a card purchased at another store down the road from the first. 

Nyx knew that Noctis would smile, already plotting his next escape from the Citadel and royal duties. 

His own gift, Nyx would learn, came with the same weeks’ worth of fear and turmoil within the Prince. Hours spent scouring services online, requesting help, looking through catalogues where Nyx had searched windows and shops. He would hear the story later of the panic and rush, the days spent staring at shipping notices and pacing the Citadel conference rooms as notifications were delayed, missed, muted and dulled in meetings that the royal duties demanded. Until the soft velvet bag was delivered, the customs paperwork wrapped around it in a sealed box. The shipping label printed in Ignis’ name and signed for in Ignis’ neat hand. Fees and taxes paid in advance without anyone ever seeing the recipient of the little box from Galahd. Noctis would only see the item once before it was wrapped up again and squirrelled away in the apartment. 

The means for a more traditional dinner were in the fridge, Nyx knew. He had seen the meat and vegetables the other night tucked away in neat bundles. He had caught a glimpse of the fresh, unopened spices lined up in neat and labelled rows when helping Noctis clear away the takeaway boxes from dinner. 

The only thing he hadn’t examined was the bottle of wine that he would have never thought to buy. The label a style he would have only admired from afar. A vintage he remembered Libertus once insisting they keep at the bar though no one in their hometown could afford even a glass of it at the rate they would need to charge to serve it. 

But it would pair well with a spiced meat dish, served on a saute of vegetables that were out if season in Lucis, but coming into season in Galahd.


End file.
